


Home Is Where the Back-Up Guns Are

by Andian



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack Pattillo, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andian/pseuds/Andian
Summary: Everybody keeps crashing at Geoff's apartment. As far as Geoff is concerned this means everybody is an asshole with no concept of privacy and personal space.





	Home Is Where the Back-Up Guns Are

It’s not like they don’t all have their own apartments. Geoff is pretty damn sure they all do. 

Hell, he had been with Gavin when he had bought his since the idiot could maybe hack the LSPD in less than thirty seconds but he wasn’t able to act grown-up for the ten minutes it took to buy an apartment. Geoff had been moral support or more like the actual person the real estate agent talked to. 

And Jack, Jack has a perfectly nice apartment. Geoff knows cause she lives next door and her apartment has the same basic layout as his own with the exception of the guest room being used as a workshop. Geoff isn’t sure he wants to know what kind of workshop exactly. 

Michael too has a perfectly nice apartment as far as Geoff is aware. The few times he had been there he had been either wounded, drunk or both so details are kind of blurry. 

Point is there is no reason for Geoff to wake up at the ungodly hour of 1 pm on a Tuesday morning and to stumble into his kitchen/living room and not be surprised to see somebody sleeping on the couch. 

He forgoes all further actions about the situation in favor of getting himself coffee.

Punching the buttons on his coffee machine only feels somewhat cathartic today. He stares at it, willing it to go faster, while theorizing who exactly is sleeping on the couch.

Ryan is out, seeing as he has unofficially taken over Geoff’s guest room to the point of Geoff being kind of afraid of going inside of it. Michael and Gavin tend to sleep on the couch in the hobby room and Geoff tends to tactfully ignore that there is only one couch for the both of them. 

Jack just crawls into Geoff’s bed because while she knows the meaning of personal space she doesn’t care and they had shared much smaller spaces, long before thin mattresses on dirty carpets had given way to king-sized beds on polished hardwood. She still hogs the blanket thought. 

The couch used to be Ray’s domain back when he was running with them but he is still down in LC as proven by the series of explosions and fire around their banking district yesterday. And the selfie Ray had sent them, pink sniper rifle in one hand, burning building in the background and wide grin at the camera. 

Geoff wouldn’t say he is proud but he has saved the picture to his computer.

This leaves one person and with renewed energy he fills the coffee into a mug and walks over to the couch to set it on the table with a loud bang.

 

“Wake up, fuck-head!”

Jeremy doesn’t so much wake with a start but rather shrieks, sits up straight and wildly stares around. Geoff picks his coffee up again and sits down next to him. 

“Morning Jeremy“, Geoff says. Jeremy just makes a pitiful sound and falls face-first back into the pillow.

“M’rning Geoff“, comes the muffled reply. 

“Long night?” Geoff asks. Finding out just how bad the hangover is, is the first step in deciding just how loud he has to speak for maximum headache-effect.

Another muffled sound. Geoff takes a sip of his coffee.

“Surveillance sucks“, Jeremy then says, at least having lifted up his head out of the pillow. Geoff doesn’t know where the pillow comes from. It’s mint green and worn and somehow manages to clash terribly with his black leather couch.

“Finding escape routes sucks too“, Jeremy continues, lifting himself up from the couch. He tends one hand through his hair, blue again Geoff notices, and then slowly sets one foot on the floor.

“Going through blackmail material sucks even harder”, he adds and then stands up, wincing slightly. 

He grabs his jacket, lying on the floor and misses the first time, manage on his second try and puts in on backwards but doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I get you the stuff in a … a few hours“, he then says, waving his hand into Geoff’s general direction and stumbles towards the door.

Geoff watches silently as Jeremy tries very hard to open the electronic lock. He fails even harder and Geoff sighs and puts down his mug.

He considers himself at least a decent boss which is why he doesn’t pull out his phone and starts filming when Jeremy leans closer and closer to the door knob in his continued quest to get it open.

“Jeremy“, Geoff says and the way Jeremy snaps to attention at that is quite satisfying. The rest of the crew has long grown out of it or, more likely, haven’t shown that kind of respect to begin with.

“Sorry Geoff, I just…“, Jeremy starts, trailing off when he sees Geoff raising an eyebrow. Jeremy sighs and stomps back, awkwardly stopping to stand in front of Geoff.

“Am I in trouble?” he asks. 

“Depends. How drunk are you right now?” Geoff says. Jeremy looks actually offended at the accusation. 

“I don’t drink on the job“, he says, folding his arms.

“Then you’re doing it wrong. Sit down“, he pats a spot next to him. Jeremy looks torn between a retort and following orders. In the end he grumbles something into his beard and falls down heavily on the sofa.

“Look Lil J“, Geoff begins and then stops to take another sip of his coffee. He definitely didn’t have enough of it for this kind of conversation. 

“Jeremy“, he tries again. Jeremy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Is that coffee or vodka?” he asks suspiciously. Geoff sighs because he clearly is taking the wrong approach here though he can’t quite figure out which one is supposed to be the correct one.

“Listen asshole“, he snaps and Jeremy looks relieved.

“There’s a reason you’re here, you know that, right?”

Jeremy looks confused.

“Yeah, I feel asleep on your couch cause your apartment was closer and you have a better coffee machine and…”

“Not that here! I mean here as in part of the crew.” Geoff interrupts him. God, now he really wishes he was drinking vodka instead.

Jeremy’s confusion meanwhile has turned into wariness.

“I’m here cause Ray felt he needed more skyscrapers to shot at people from.”

“You’re here because you’re good“, Geoff corrects him. There is an awkward pause.

“And that means stop overworking yourself to the point of not being able to open a fucking door.” Geoff adds. 

“I, uh…” Jeremy genuinely doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Geoff hasn’t felt this uncomfortable since the time he had come across Ryan brushing his teeth in his mask makeup.

“Sit back down, sleep a few hours, have a cup of coffee and then do the stuff. That’s an order.” 

Something weird is going on with Jeremy’s expression, confusion battling with something frighteningly close to gratitude. It settles finally into a small smile and then Jeremy shuffles back to the couch.

“Thanks Geoff“, Jeremy says as he lies down again. 

“Shush“, Geoff says. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, never mention what I just said again.” He takes another sip of his coffee. Jeremy hums something into the pillow he has buried his head into.

“And seriously, stop sleeping on my couch, you dick, I’m not running a fucking hotel here!” 

All he gets for an answer is a light chuckle and with a sigh Geoff leans back to drink the rest of his coffee. 

The advice seems to stick at least though and his couch and the rest of the apartment is blessedly empty for one week. Though everybody expect for Geoff and Gavin spending five days on a trip up north to check on one of their suppliers is more likely the reason for the absence of any surprise guests.

It’s a Sunday today and Geoff has somehow managed to get his ten hours of sleep. He stares blankly into his fridge and wonders if the pizza in it was still eatable. It was after six pm, so technically it didn’t count as his breakfast.

“Morning Geoff“, somebody then suddenly says behind him. Geoff does not flinch. Twenty years of trying not to die does that to people. His hand automatically reaches for his gun instead, naturally non-existent since he was in his boxer shorts and bathrobe.

He curses and then curses louder when he turns around and sees Michael standing in the doorframe.

“You fuckhead, what are you doing here?” he asks. Michael shrugs and throws himself on the couch. He too is in his boxer short so Geoff figures he probably slept over in his hobby room once again.

“We came back and I wanted to check in with you“, he says, putting his feet on the couch table cause he was a little shit and Jack never cussed them out for it when Geoff wasn’t around.

“So you broke in here in the middle of the night“, Geoff says with a sigh. Deciding that he was more likely to die from a bullet than an unhealthy diet he picks up the pizza carton and walks over to Michael. Michael grabs a slice immediately when he sits down and Geoff can’t really bring himself to care much.

“Tell Gavin he won’t get any if he doesn’t get up soon“, he says, chewing on his own pizza slice.

Michael’s eyes suddenly turn dark.

“He’s not here“, he says, voice aloof and terse.

Geoff stops chewing. He wouldn’t say that Michael and Garvin were attached to the hips but he had figured that the moment Michael had come back from the trip he would have gone to Gavin’s place. Or Gavin would be at Geoff’s place.

“Everything okay?” Geoff asks and then inwardly rolls his eyes. He sounded like a fucking grandmother here.

From the mocking grin Michael was throwing him, he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Everything’s fucking peachy, thanks for asking, auntie“, he says.

“Fuck you“, Geoff says and angrily bites down on his pizza. They both chew silently for a few minutes.

Then Michael puts down his pizza slice.

“It’s just…“, he begins hesitatingly. “Do you know when you like a chick and you think she likes you too but you can’t just grow the balls to ask her if it’s something more? And then it’s kind of awkward and she is kind of angry with you and you’re kind of angry about her being angry and then you fight about it and then it’s awkward and it kind of sucks and it’s not my fault he is being an idiot!” 

Michael’s voice had grown louder and louder during his rant, cumulating in him yelling at the end. Geoff is glad he has thick walls. Then Michael’s words catch up with him and he blinks and sets down his pizza slice.

“So this is about a … girl?” he asks. Michael shrugs his shoulder. “Maybe“, he mumbles. “Not really“, he then adds more quietly.

There is a pause and Geoff had figured something like this since the first time he had caught Michael sleeping buried under Gavin on the couch in his hobby room. He had just also figured those two idiots would be able to work it out on their own and leave him the hell out of this.

“Look, you know the base of all good relationships is communication“, he begins. Michael stares at him in disbelief. “Okay basically, don’t just fuck“, Geoff corrects himself. “Talk first, fuck later.”

“Sounds more like you“, Michael says with a snort. “But what if he doesn’t….”

“That’s the part where you two have a fucking grown-up conversation about the exact kind of bullshit you want to get into“, Geoff says. His relationships never were that complicated when he was younger, were they? Though maybe they could have done with a bit more talking and a bit less bottles being thrown and knifes being drawn.

“And you don’t mind if we’d do this. For real?” Michael interrupts his musing. He doesn’t look at him as he is asking and Geoff suddenly has the feeling that if he is not careful this might become an actual touching moment.

“Don’t fuck on my couch“, he says instead. Michael looks slightly guilty and fuck, Geoff never wants to think about this.

“On a second thought, don’t. Don’t touch each other, don’t look at each other, don’t even fucking think about each other when I’m around.”

“Bit too late for that, Geoff“, Michael says with a shit-eating grin and Geoff groans. 

“Fucking hell“, he mumbles. “I hate you two, I hate you two so much.”

Michael soothingly pats his arms while stealing the last slice of pizza and Geoff hopes Gavin accidently kicks him between the legs the next time they … they were getting busy.

The two weeks afterwards pass in a whirlwind of heists, three planned acts of arson, one unplanned one and one trip to their “doctor”.

Geoff is feeling better today though, especially considering the quotation marks around their doctor were truly earned. His back still hurts like hell but at least he is able to drink with the kind of the pills he got. He pours himself a drink in the dark and then switches on the lights.

“Fuck, Jack!“ he yells, definitely not scared half-death from suddenly seeing Jack sitting on his couch.  
“Warn a guy, asshole“, he grumbles, before sitting down next to Jack, wincing slightly when his back hits the couch.

“Sorry Geoff“, Jack says. She doesn’t sound sorry at all and Geoff rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah whatever“, he mumbles.

“Want a glass?” he then asks. Jack silently shakes her head and Geoff raises an eyebrow. Decline of alcohol was usually reserved for dire situation and that one time red smoke had started coming out of her workshop.

“What’s up? You gone sober?” he asks. 

There is no answer and he actually stops the glass on its way to his mouth. Jack is many things, half of them incredibly contradictory, but she very rarely is silent.

“So did you even go home?” he asks non-committedly. 

He had asked Jack once if she was okay. He doesn’t anymore since then. 

 

“Or did you spent the last two hours sitting on my couch like a creep?” 

“I went home“, Jack says, voice bland. It’s not what Geoff is actually asking. She knows that, he knows that and they have known too long to play this bullshit game.

“Jack, what the fuck is wrong?” Geoff asks bluntly. Jack sighs, leans back into the couch and closes her eyes instead of answering.

Geoff watches her silently, now actually a bit worried. He takes a sip and wonders if this situation calls for the entire bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.

“It’s not that bad“, Jack says without opening her eyes. “And it will screw with your pills.” 

She knows him too well which is why he just rolls his eyes and takes another sip as he leans back into the couch.

He winces slightly when his bandaged back touches the couch. Burns are the worst. Stabbing also sucks though. 

Jack eyes had shot open when he had winced and she is eyeing him now worriedly. 

“Still that bad?” she asks. 

Geoff shrugs but not too much. 

“I was on fire“, he says, “Kind of sucks, you know“,

Jack says nothing, stares at her hands and Geoff slowly puts his drink on the couch table. 

“Is it because I was on fire?” he asks.

“It’s because I set you on fire“, Jack corrects him and it takes Geoff a moment to understand her.

“Not on purpose, though“, he says. “I’d know if you did it on purpose.”

There was that thing with the darts and the bottle of Tequila, that one time in Mexico. Geoff is very much aware of what it feels like if Jack actually wants to hurt him.

“That makes it worse“, Jack mumbles. 

“You’d prefer setting me on fire on purpose?” Geoff asks and Jack just sighs again and takes his glass, emptying it in three big gulps. She puts it backs on the table with a lot more force than necessary.

“I got you hurt“, she then says. “Cause I was careless.” She stares at the table again.

“Maybe I’m getting too old for this shit“, she then adds. “Maybe I should just quit before I … before I actually get you killed.”

Geoff silently looks at her. She is wearing one of her eyesores of Hawaiian shirts, short hair covering her eyes and Geoff almost can’t remember how she had looked like when she had preferred shirts and vests and had her hair tucked in a ponytail.

Almost can’t. 

“Remember when we were trying to rob that gun shop? And you said it was a fucking stupid plan and it was a fucking stupid plan? And then that guy got his shotgun out?” Geoff says, staring straight ahead at the mind-blowingly expensive piece of art hanging on the wall of his living room. 

“And how we only had the motorcycle and you almost feel off during the escape.”

Back then there had been no expensive art. There had been moldy wallpaper, peeling off from equally moldy walls.

“You were bleeding so much.“

There had been blood back then, too much, too red and his voice had been shaking so badly he could barely get the words out.

“And I kept asking if you were okay and you kept saying that it wasn’t my fault.” 

No doctor on speed dial, not even the shitty excuse who was way too much into needles they had now.

“You didn’t believe me“, Jack mumbles. Geoff almost laughs out loud.

“I had to fix you up with duct tape. Yeah, I didn’t believe you.“

“I got better though. And then we went back a month later and this time we had shotguns“, Jack says and there is a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, we didn’t quit. I didn’t quit. No matter how much I fucked up.”

“You really did fuck up“, Jack says.

“And so did you. So, you’re going to get another Molotov cocktail and get back out there or are you going to hide like a coward?”

“I hate it when you’re being reasonable“, Jack says but she is smiling. Geoff shrugs and puts his feet on the coffee table.

“Get me a new drink and I won’t do it again“, he says and Jack smiles and if there is one thing that hasn’t changed in all those years, it’s her smile.

Also her ignorance when it comes to the right mixing ratio of coke and rum.

He still catches her throwing him a few worried glances but as his back heals more and more the glances disappear until she forcefully slaps him on the shoulder after two weeks and just laughs at his slight groan at the last lingering traces of discomfort.

It’s during his third mission back and he feels actually pretty good about life when he comes back to his apartment.

He feels less good when he opens the door and sees the person covered under a bunch of blankets on his couch.

“Fuck no“, he groans. 

There is a pathetic noise coming from the couch. 

“I told you fucker to stay home, didn’t I?” he says as he walks over to the couch.

“Which part of “if you keep coughing on your gun you’re out on this mission” did you not get?” he asks as he pulls the blanket down, revealing Gavin’s head. He looks awful, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, face red and eyes glassy.

“Tell me you didn’t drive here“, Geoff says.

“Got a taxi“, Gavin says and then he coughs. He sounds as bad as he looks. Worse even, maybe. The cold made him sound even more nasal than usually and Geoff instinctively reaches out to touch his forehead. It’s burning hot.

“I’m no doctor but I think you got a fucking fever“, he says. 

“I’m going to die“, Gavin groans. “I had some medicine but it’s doing bugger all. I don’t want to die, Geoff.”

“You’re not going to die“, Geoff says, rolling his eyes. Gavin just lets himself fall back on the couch with another cough, too weak for an actual comeback. Geoff actually is a bit worried about this.

“Stay here, I’m going to get some more medicines“, Geoff says. His medicine cabinet is well stocked. Too well stocked for a normal apartment probably but normal apartments usually didn’t see the amount of bruises and stab wounds his does on a regular basis.

He grabs whatever seems to potentially work with a fever and makes his way back into the living room. He is greeted with the sign of Gavin struggling to pull the blanket back over him.

“So cold, Geoff“, he mumbles. His eyes are very glassy now and Geoff leans down to stare at him suspiciously. 

“What kind of medicines did you have exactly?” he asks. Gavin shrugs. “Bottle stuff. Tasted like grapes. Why did it taste like grapes, Geoff?”

Geoff abandons his plan to pump Gavin full off even more pills.

“Do you want more blankets?” he asks and Gavin just nods weakly. 

“All the blankets. Like a blanket ford“, he mumbles and hell, if Geoff wasn’t feeling so charitable right now, and admittedly kind of worried about Gavin, he would be filming this.

Instead he just gets some more blankets and covers Gavin with them. 

Gavin closes his eyes and makes a weak but content sound. With a sigh Geoff sits down next to him on the couch. 

“Get high on fucking NyQuil at your own place next time“, he mumbles but there is no real heat beneath it.

“Like your couch“, Gavin responds, a loopy smile appearing on his face. “It’s a really good couch. Michael’s couch is also good but there are always stains on his so your couch is better.”

Geoff frowns. 

“That better not be a metaphor for something“, he says. 

“And Jeremy’s couch sucks and Ryan doesn’t even have a couch“, Gavin continues, completely ignoring Geoff’s comment. 

“You’ve been to Ryan’s place?” Geoff asks surprised. The man was notoriously private. Geoff had the dull notion that he’d probably not even let them into his apartment or house or murder cabin if one of them was dying.

“Yeah, like he has carpets and pink curtains and cats. Like five cats. And a hamster.” 

Geoff snorts.

“Yes, buddy, I’m sure that was his place.” 

Gavin makes another sound, a weird mix between a snort and a snore and then seems to have fallen asleep. The snort turns into outright snores and Geoff hates his life, he truly does.

He hates it so much that he feels Gavin’s forehead again and pulls the blanket up under his chin. And that he falls asleep on the couch while listening to Gavin’s snores.

He wakes up before Gavin because his back hurts like hell and the room is too damn bright. A look at Gavin confirms that he is still sleeping, though the sounds alone are making that clear enough. He still feels hot when Geoff touches his forehead but a lot less than yesterday and he does look a bit better. 

Geoff stands up and regrets it immediately. He is getting too old for this shit. Correction, he thinks with a groan, he is getting too old to spend his nights on his fucking couch. He has a completely fine bed and he decides that Gavin seems to be well enough to not need him as a babysitter anymore.

He makes it almost to his bedroom when the door opens.

“Is Gavin here?” Michael says. “I told the fucker to stay home and he wrote me a text message when we were done but then I checked on him today and the stupid idiot wasn’t there and…”

“Michael, that you?” His rambling is interrupted by sleepy looking Gavin raising his head from the couch.

“Oh, thank God, I thought you had gone and did something stupid again.” Michael does not look at Geoff anymore, making his way over to the couch and Gavin instead.

He doesn’t stop ranting even once he made it there and flops down next to Gavin.

“How you feeling, you stupid asshole?” he asks. Gavin shrugs.

“Better, I think but my head still hurts, Michael.” 

“Yeah, if you just had stayed at your goddamn apartment I could have gotten you some pills.” 

“My apartment was so cold though, Michael”, Gavin whines.

Geoff is silently watching the back-and-forth from his bedroom door. He quickly turns away when Michael puts his hand on Gavin’s forehead. It looks a lot more intimate than the way Geoff had done it. 

It’s also stomach-turning and gag-reflex-triggering cute to watch. Geoff decides that he really did not have enough sleep when that kind of thoughts are actually crossing his mind so he finally opens the door to his bedroom.

And because he is a really nice guy he even refrains from telling Gavin and Michael to better having gotten the fuck out once he wakes up.

He regrets it later when it takes Gavin three days to get well again and Michael and Gavin both spend that time alternating between the couch in his hobby room and the one in his living room because “the television there is bigger”, as Michael puts it with a shrug.

They get Geoff to order pizza and Chinese take-out and Geoff deeply regrets ever starting his own criminal gang.

Finally though Gavin acts his usual normal stupid self instead of his high-on-painkiller-self and he has his apartment for himself again.

For three days at least. Then he opens his bedroom door to go and take a piss.  
“Hey Geoff“, Ryan says, sitting on his couch.

Geoff stops, takes a deep breath and then continues to the bathroom without answering. He takes some time, washes his hand three times, dries them carefully before coming back out.

Ryan is still sitting on his couch. He is still wearing his face-paint. There is still his mask on the couch table.

The rocket launcher in his hand is still being carefully polished with one of Geoff’s kitchen towels.

“No“, Geoff says. “No, it’s too early late to deal with this shit.”

“It’s eleven in the morning“, Ryan says in that particularly reasonable tone of voice he has that Geoff is convinced he only adapts as a contrast to his entire existence.

“No weapons in my apartment!” Geoff snaps at him. Ryan raises a single eyebrow.

“No heavy weapons in my apartments!” Geoff corrects himself. 

“I made you coffee“, Ryan answers and a feeling of dread rises in Geoff. 

“Why?” he asks suspiciously. Ryan shrugs and puts the rocket launcher on the coffee table next to a cup of what from the distance seems to be actual coffee.

“Just trying to be nice“, he says.

The feeling of dread deepens. 

“Who did you kill?” Geoff asks with a groan, dropping on the couch and blindly grabbing for the mug.

“Wait, no, what did you kill?” He takes a sip of the coffee. It’s good, better than every time Geoff tries to make a cup of coffee. Ryan seems to connect with his coffee machine on a level Geoff had yet to achieve.

“I just wanted to talk“, Ryan says and Geoff eyes open immediately.

“Oh god, you killed the major, right? I know this fucking day would come, let me get the fake IDs and then…”

“I didn’t kill anybody”, Ryan interrupts him. It is Geoff’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I didn’t kill anybody today”, Ryan corrected himself. “I just need … there is something I’d like to…”

He stopped halfway and turned all his attention back to the rocket launcher.

“There is something you what?” Geoff asks, feeling his confusion grow even more. “Buddy, I told you if you clean up behind yourself and don’t do it near the firework factory again you can keep trying to burn down the entire city. I still don’t think it will work but…”

He is interrupted by Ryan very abruptly letting go of the rocket launcher. It lands heavily on the coffee table and for a moment Geoff fears for its glass top. Then he realizes that Ryan just dropped a fucking rocket launcher in his fucking apartment and that he almost fucking…

“It’s not loaded”, Ryan interrupts his inner cursing because just interrupting him speaking isn’t enough. 

“Look Geoff, do you think I’m a normal person?” Ryan asks.

Geoff stares at him in astonished silence. Then he stares a bit more. Ryan stares back. His face paint is applied perfectly as always. 

“Geoff, you’re still there?” Ryan asks.

It occurs to Geoff that Ryan probably has a stack of his face paint in Geoff’s apartment. It occurs even more to Geoff that Ryan has never run out of face paint since he started sleeping over at Geoff’s apartment. It occurs the most to Geoff that Ryan probably has a really big stack of his face paint in Geoff’s apartment. 

“Geoff, come on a simple yes or no. Do you think I’m normal?”

Geoff finally manages to stop having things occurring to him.

“Do you really need an answer for that?” he manages to say.

Ryan actually looks thoughtful at that for a moment then he shakes his head. 

“No, you’re right. I am normal. Not quite sure why I need you to say it but after the thing with the party clown I was a bit worried.”

He turns his attention back to the rocket launcher, looking actually happy.

“No, that’s not … wait, what party clown?” Geoff says alarmed. 

“Those burning balloon animals were following me around for a bit. Why would you even fill those with hydrogen? Super easy to catch fire”, Ryan says, starting to polish the rocket launcher again.

Geoff stares at him, mouth slightly open.

“And then that thing with his shoe, look, I swear I didn’t even know you could do that to a…”

“Stop!” Geoff manages to say or yell. “Just …. just polish that fucking weapon and then make more coffee.”

He slumps back into the couch, mind plagued with images he thinks are going to follow him around for a bit now. 

“Also new amendment to the “setting the city on fire” rule”, he says after a few minutes filled with an endless array of endlessly horrible images. “No more fires near parties.”

Ryan hums in a way that signals that he has heard what was said but is not actually going to listen to it. For a moment Geoff considers putting his foot down but then he is the boss of the crew for some reasons. One of it being that he knows what battles are worth fighting and which are not.

Party clowns and fire in whatever combination where in the latter category.

“And stop bringing fucking weapons here that could blow up the entire apartment!”

Rocket launchers though, those were definitely in the first category. Definitely.

He is actually surprised that Ryan seems to follow that rule in the next seven days. It’s a good few days, Gavin, Michael and Jeremy spend some time trying to blow up a rival crew’s yacht, failing miserably and requiring Ryan and Jack to step in who also fail but less miserably. It still gets blown up in the end and Geoff gets to scream at everybody over their communication channel so Geoff considers it an outright success.

It’s Saturday and Geoff manages to wake up rather early at 1pm with a full ten hours of sleep behind him. Yawning slightly he wanders into the kitchen, making coffee before letting himself fall into his couch.

There is something niggling at the back of his head. It’s a weird sensation of something being very, very wrong and as hard as he tries he can’t quite seem to grasp what exactly it is. Absent-mindedly he stares at the rest of the almost full can of coffee he had made in preparation for whatever dipshit was currently living in his apartment though he’d be damned if he told any of them that he ever did it.

Then the realization of what exactly was wrong then hits him like a well-aimed rocket to a police helicopter.  
He stands up abruptly, knocks his mug over and heroically ignores the splashes of hot coffee that landed on him and marches towards his hobby room.

Bursting the door to it open reveals his hobby room and Geoff blinks confused because in it is a distinct lack of Gavin and Michael cuddled up on the couch, snoring and, in the best case scenario, covered by the blankets.

He stares for a long second before turning around and walking towards his guest room. He actually hesitates a moment before opening the door to it. It’s been some time since he has been in there. Actually it has been enough time that he really can’t quite remember when he last was in the room.

But if he can manage almost having to see Gavin and Michael naked he can managed whatever the hell Ryan had done to his guest room and taking a deep breath he opens the door.

There is the bed, the dresser and the bookcase and everything looks precisely the way the interior designer had put it in. Nothing seems out of place and Geoff feels almost cheated. He had at least expected some dire threat written in blood on the wall.

He takes a step into the room and something crunches under his bare feet. Frowning he looks down, seeing that it was a piece of paper. Leaning down he picks it up.

It’s a page from what seems to be an IKEA catalogue showing curtains. There is a red circle around a particularly awful pinkish one. Several exclamation marks are next to it.

Geoff lets go of the paper, slowly takes a step back and then closes the door, silently vowing to never ever enter his guest room ever again while Ryan was still alive.

Though at least his suspicion is now confirmed. There is nobody else in his apartment expect for him. 

The realization fills him with a sudden and completely unexpected wave of panic. There is always somebody in his apartment. Always somebody stealing his food, drinking his coffee, taking over his couch. Geoff might live alone but he never was alone. When somebody from his crew is in the city it basically meant somebody is in his apartment. 

If none of the fuckers he calls his crew are here, something is wrong.

Before he even realizes it himself he is out of his apartment and down the hallway to Jack’s apartment. He knocks wildly on her door, before remembering that he knows her door code and starts punching it in, fingers slipping off more than once.

Before he finishes though the door is opened.

“Oh hey, Geoff”, Jeremy says. 

Geoff just stares at him almost wordlessly.

“Is Geoff awake already?” he then hears Gavin in the background. Looking over Jeremy’s shoulder he sees the man sitting at Jack’s kitchen counter. Michael is next to him while Jack and Ryan were on the couch, playing a video game.

“What the-“ Geoff starts and then decides that this is not a conversation for the hallway. He walks inside, barely noticing Jeremy closing the door behind him.

“Geoff, you want pancakes? There is this delivery service that makes them with fresh fruits”, Gavin says, turning towards him with a plate of what does look like pancakes with strawberries on them.

“And don’t try to take my door down the next time, I’m not deaf yet”, Jack says from the couch, not taking her eyes away from the television.

“What … why the hell are you all here?” 

Geoff finally manages to find his tongue from wherever the hell it had disappeared to during the last few seemingly normal but actually incredible bizarre minutes.

Michael raises an eyebrow.

“Jack is too lazy to clean her fucking table so we’re eating here and…”

“Not that here! Why are you all at Jack’s place?!”

“Hey, my place is nice”, Jack says. 

“Not the fucking issue, Jack!” Geoff snaps back. 

“We were just trying to be nice, Geoff”, Gavin says and from anybody else Geoff would have thought they were laughing at him.

“Yeah, we wanted to let you sleep in for your birthday and shit”, Michael chips in.

Something inside Geoff’s mind surfaces.

“My birthday?” 

“We’re going to the desert to blow up shit later as a present”, Ryan says. “Don’t ruin the surprise!” Jeremy says who was now sitting next to Ryan, watching his and Jack’s game with interest.

“It will be great, I got 50 bottles of kerosene”, Jack adds and Geoff doesn’t need to look at her to know that there is a slightly manic glint in her eyes.

“This is … my birthday present?” Geoff repeats because his “present” last year had consisted of a car chase through the downtown area, followed by six hours of hiding in an alley from the cops.

“Yeah, thankfully we can go back to your place tomorrow”, Ryan says as he throws his controller away in a way that signified a humiliating defeat. “Jack’s keep throwing away my stuff.”

“I told I had no ideas what you needed those ten bottles of contact lens solution for!” 

“Wait, what did you need those bottles for?” Jeremy chimes in, having picked up the controller from Ryan who is making his way towards the pancakes on the kitchen counter. 

“We wanted to see if we could make explosives out of it”, Gavin says through a mouth full of pancakes.

“Oh cool, did it work?” Michael asks and maybe this was the point to get another word into but Geoff doesn’t really feel like it.

He goes and gets pancakes instead while the conversation that has now turned to whether or not they could make a functioning Molotov cocktail out of the contact lens solution washes over him.

He watches his crew as he eats his pancakes and if he were a man who actually wasted time to think about what he felt he might have taken a closer look at the panic he had felt when none of them had been around, such a stark contrast to the deeply seated contentment that is now flowing through him. 

But he isn’t that kind of man and so all he does is finishing his pancakes and looking forward to a day of blowing up stuff with his crew before all of them would be taking over his apartment again the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written over more than one year, in three different countries at varying amounts of motivation and natural light. I'm just glad I finished this finally.


End file.
